<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Underneath It All by inoreuct</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863209">Underneath It All</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoreuct/pseuds/inoreuct'>inoreuct</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Of Godzilla and Aliens [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I love these idiots with all my heart, M/M, Making Up, Pride, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, alien-obsessed playful tooru, goddammit these two, iwaoi - Freeform, oikawa is constantly worried about being too annoying, oikawa is self-depreciative as all hell and just wants love and attention, stressed-out kinesiology major hajime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:00:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,194</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoreuct/pseuds/inoreuct</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwa had been cramming for important examinations, and Oikawa had been just a little too playful. </p><p>Insensitive things were said, but not <em>meant</em>. </p><p>But did it really matter if Iwa had meant them or not, if Oikawa was going to believe them anyway?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Of Godzilla and Aliens [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>184</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Underneath It All</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ALL RIGHT ALL RIGHT PEOPLE I'M BACK. </p><p>Oh no would ya look at that, my angsty Iwaoi brainrot is resurfacing— Say what you will, but Iwaoi will forever be the Original Angsty Couple™. </p><p>Long story short, exam season was an absolute <em>bitch</em>, and while escaping to Instagram, I stumbled upon some art by the incredible <a href="https://www.instagram.com/ezstrela/">ezstrela</a> and then my brain latched on to a fleeting idea and ran for the metaphorical fucking hills. </p><p>At any rate, here we are! Yay! Shoutout to my absolutely amazing beta <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesthetic_cl0wn/pseuds/aesthetic_cl0wn">aesthetic_cl0wn</a>, without whom my grammar would be absolutely <em>atrocious</em>. Teri, I platonically love you to the fucking moon and back. Stay swag. (Psst psst guys she also writes really good angst and Levihan stuff—)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Iwaizumi’s head <em> hurt. </em>Being a physical therapy major was… not easy. Iwa loved his courses, he really did; he had realised that he was more than content to boss Oikawa around from the sidelines and help to care for his boyfriend’s overstressed muscles and injured knee. As much as he loved the thrill of spiking a perfect set from his boyfriend and watching as it smashed down onto the court on the opposite side of the net, it was difficult sometimes. </p><p> </p><p>Difficult for him to see Oikawa get hurt and be unable to help the setter because they had to focus on the game.</p><p> </p><p>Iwa took a sip of his coffee and grimaced as he swallowed. It had gone stone cold, and the bitterness was hitting him full force; majoring in kinesiology gave him a perfectly good reason to be drinking a long black with five espresso shots in it. </p><p> </p><p>However, the caffeine was a double-edged sword, and Iwa felt like he was stabbing himself repeatedly in the foot. It inhibited adenosine, yes, which was the only thing preventing him from conking out and drooling all over his Macbook keyboard, but caffeine also heightened anxiety and blood pressure.</p><p> </p><p>Which meant that Iwa’s cortisol levels were through the fucking roof.</p><p> </p><p>Which also meant that Iwa was stressed out of his goddamn mind.</p><p> </p><p>Which definitely meant that Iwa was nearly physically unable to stand Oikawa rambling loudly about aliens in the background, not when he had more than fifty common sports injuries, their causes, exactly how they would happen <em> and </em> their treatment methods to memorise in the span of two weeks before his end-of-year exams. </p><p> </p><p>“Tooru, could you—” he started before snapping his mouth shut again, pressing a knuckle into his temples, fingers slashing across the trackpad of his laptop as he hunched over their shared study desk. He couldn’t focus at all, but Oikawa would quiet down eventually. He always did… It took longer sometimes, but Iwa could (would have to) deal with it until then.</p><p>“Hajime! C’mon c’mon c’mon, you have <em> got </em>to see this! It’s not gonna take that long—” </p><p>Deceptively slim fingers were suddenly digging into Iwa’s shoulders, yanking him backwards into the chair as Oikawa flung himself into his boyfriend’s lap and slumped against his broad chest. Iwa grunted, slightly annoyed as he tried to manoeuvre around Oikawa and get back to his work, peering over the setter’s fluffy brown hair.</p><p>“<em>Hajimeeeee</em>,” Oikawa whined, lips pushing out into a pout as he flicked Iwa in the cheek playfully, “look!” He shoved his phone screen under the other man’s nose, the display glaringly bright to Iwa’s red, irritated eyes, puffy from too much blue light and too little sleep. “Proof! <em> Ha! </em>See!”</p><p> </p><p>Iwa squinted at the words bobbing in front of his face. They were big and bolded but it was impossible to read anything at all with the way Oikawa was shaking the phone. </p><p>The setter kicked his legs in front of him like a kid sitting on a swing. “See, this right here?” He flipped the screen back to himself and scrolled down, then showed Iwa a picture of what he could only hazardly guess was a wheat field. “<em>Crop circle! </em>There is literally <em> no way </em>people could have made this—”</p><p>Oikawa was the kind of person whose voice got higher as they got more and more excited, and combined with Iwa’s prior tension headache, the kinesiology major was partially convinced that his skull was splitting apart from the inside. A vein pulsed on his forehead as he leaned to the side, trying to see around Oikawa flailing and wiggling in his lap like some agitated hyperactive squirrel. “Look, Tooru—”</p><p>“Come on, five minutes, okay? Just gimme five minutes!” Oikawa’s voice was reaching fever pitch, his grin nearly manic. “There were no imprints in the wheat at all.” </p><p>Iwa could feel a tic in his jaw, his breathing becoming shallower as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Tooru—”</p><p>“No wait listen, listen! Man-made crop circles are created by stomping on the grain or pressing it down with wooden planks—”</p><p><em> Stop talking stop talking just stop talking. </em> </p><p>Oikawa didn’t seem to notice Iwa’s fingers tightening into fists where they were resting lightly on the keyboard. “But there weren’t any imprints at all!”</p><p><em> Too loud too loud just stop please stop too loud stop </em> <b> <em>stop</em></b><em>— </em></p><p> “It had to be aliens, Hajime! I’m telling you, I <em> told </em> you they were real—”</p><p>“Tooru.” Iwa’s voice was a strangled cross between a yell and a growl, hissing out from between his clenched teeth.</p><p>“Come on, you can spare a few minutes, right? Look at this, I can’t believe—” </p><p>“<strong><em>Enough</em><em>!</em></strong>” </p><p> </p><p>Iwa hadn’t meant to snap. </p><p> </p><p>And yet, his palm slammed down onto the tabletop <em> hard</em>, hard enough to scare Oikawa so badly that he jerked away and rammed his waist into the edge of the table. </p><p> </p><p>“You just keep going on and on and <em> on</em>!” Iwa hadn’t shouted at anyone in so long. His brain couldn’t compute anything other than <em> stressed, tired, annoyed </em> and <em> angry</em>, and he couldn’t even keep up with the words that poured out of his mouth. “I already told you that I need to cram for my exams. If I fail in two weeks, it’s <em> over</em>. You have volleyball as a career plan, but if I fail I will lose my chance to become a trainer, I fucking told you <em> months </em> ago! Why the hell do you always have to be so fucking childish and needy and <em> annoying</em>! What the hell will it take for you to realise that I’ve never given a single flying <em> fuck </em> about the stupid aliens and finally give me some goddamn <em> space </em> instead?!”</p><p> </p><p>Russet eyes, scared and shocked and wide and welling with salt. A stunned face, barely centimetres away from Iwa’s own. Iwa only realised how close their faces were when Oikawa struggled to slide sideways off Iwa’s lap with his fingers trembling. He was out of the room before Iwa could say a word, but the black-haired man caught sight of a glittering tear falling to the floor. </p><p> </p><p>Iwa didn’t move. It hadn’t fully sunk in, not yet, the magnitude of what he’d said, the <em> fear </em> in his boyfriend’s eyes. The realisation surfaced in bits and pieces, along with the dread and guilt and regret; the tender, irritated rawness of his throat, the little puddle of brown-black coffee that had jumped out of his mug and spilled when he’d slammed the table. And oh gods, the <em> mug</em>. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes roved hungrily over the white ceramic. Oikawa had bought him that mug. There was a picture of them on it, on the day when Iwa had finally found the balls to ask Oikawa on a date. He still remembered that night, when they were in their third year of high school. It had been a Friday, after volleyball practice, and they’d been walking home together like they always did. Oikawa’s hair had been messed up and curling erratically from sweat, and he looked up at the sky like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life, lips slightly parted and his eyes dreamy. </p><p> </p><p>Iwa had called his name and when Oikawa turned his head, his expression didn’t change in the slightest. The spiker had never been particularly eloquent or good with emotions, but the soft warmth in the depths of Oikawa’s eyes made him part his lips and drag out all the words he’d longed to say to his best friend ever since he’d fallen in love.</p><p> </p><p>And when Oikawa had tears sparkling on his lash line, his voice trembling as he whispered that he’d been waiting for Iwa for <em> years</em>, his smile could have lit up the entire fucking galaxy, screw the sun and the moon and the stars. </p><p> </p><p>And of course, being Oikawa, he insisted on taking a picture. His lips were pressed to Iwa’s cheek as the spiker looked at him fondly, adoration clear in his gaze, muscled arm curling around the setter’s slim waist. </p><p> </p><p>Oikawa looked so <em> happy </em> in the picture, his hazel eyes clear and sparkling even through his puffy eyelids.</p><p> </p><p>So unlike the dark murk of fear that had clouded his beautiful features as Iwa backed him against the desk. </p><p> </p><p>It was quite a while before Iwa cleared his throat too loudly, dragging his chair forward and sitting back. His cheeks felt strangely cold, and he reached up to swipe away tears that he hadn’t even realised were there. Oikawa was annoying sometimes, and childish <em> all </em> the time, and definitely needy. But Iwa loved him all the same, Iwa loved him <em> because </em>of all those things and more. </p><p> </p><p>They teased and they bickered and they had little spats every now and then. Iwa wasn’t very affectionate, that much was true, but he cared <em> much </em>more than he let on. Accidentally-too-harsh words masked tender affection, and pride prevented him from sweeping Oikawa into a sweet kiss and a warm embrace every time their eyes met.</p><p> </p><p>He cared so much.</p><p> </p><p>And the thought of Oikawa thinking anything otherwise made his stomach <em> turn</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em> Get it together. You can’t afford to cry, you don’t have any more time. You need to study and he wouldn’t want to see you now, anyway. </em>Iwa swallowed hard, clicking the space bar of his laptop to wake it up. Losing himself in his work would have to do. </p><p> </p><p>                               *</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t work. </p><p> </p><p>Iwa had been trying to study for the past three hours, and he’d managed to memorise a grand total of <em> absolutely fucking nothing</em>. He’d taken to staring at his mug, taking in the way Oikawa’s lips curved against his cheek, the way his boyfriend’s skin glowed under the faint moonlight. <em> Funny how I can focus on this just fine... </em>Iwa jumped as three light knocks sounded on his door. </p><p> </p><p><em> Tooru. </em>He scrambled out of the chair, wincing as pins and needles shot up his legs. Hobbling to the door, he wrenched it open with an apology already on his lips, but—</p><p> </p><p>There was no-one there. </p><p> </p><p>There <em> was</em>, however, a take-out container on the floor right in front of his doorway, complete with a pair of disposable chopsticks in a paper sleeve and a turquoise sticky note decorated with words scribbled in ballpoint pen and familiar elegant writing. He ignored them for the time being, skirting around to dash into the living room. “Tooru!” He skidded around a corner. <em> Almost there… </em>“Tooru, please, wait!”</p><p> </p><p>He was already too late, again. Their apartment was still and silent. Iwa had to force himself to remember how his legs were supposed to function before walking back to his room and slowly bending down to pick up the chopsticks and plastic take-out box, skimming over the sticky note. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hajime,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I got you your favourite! I’d have cooked if I could, but you know that baking is my forte; you’re the real chef here :)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t burn yourself out, okay? I would very much like my boyfriend back alive after exam season, please and thank you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’ll be at Suga’s, so use the time alone wisely!! You finally have some peace and quiet :&gt; Love you o(≧v≦)o </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tooru </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Iwa watched as a tear fell onto the bright paper, and he quickly wiped it away before it could soak in and make the ink bleed. Prying the box open as he walked back to his desk, he nearly laughed as a curl of steam wafted out, carrying the fragrant smell of radish and bonito flakes with it. <em> Agedashi tofu. </em> He smiled a little at the small golden-brown cubes. <em> Goddammit, Tooru.  </em></p><p> </p><p>He <em> would have </em> laughed, if his chest didn’t hurt so fucking bad. </p><p> </p><p>Iwa’s fingers were trembling slightly as he pulled the chopsticks apart, his eyes wandering away from the fried tofu and once again landing on the picture of him and Oikawa on his mug. “Itadakimasu,” he whispered.</p><p> </p><p>                               *</p><p> </p><p>As it turned out, Iwa hadn’t been able to get any studying done at all. It was so fucking hypocritical, but now the house was too <em> quiet</em>. He would be straining his ears, wondering why he couldn’t hear Oikawa chatting to someone on the phone, or humming along to some ridiculous pop song on the radio, before he remembered—</p><p> </p><p>Oikawa was... gone. </p><p> </p><p>Before they started dating, Iwa had never thought he’d enjoy sharing a bed with someone. He had expected it to be hot and cramped and stuffy and uncomfortable. He’d shared a bed with Oikawa before, but he supposed that it didn’t count; they had been nothing more than childhood friends back then, before sharing beds became inappropriate. </p><p> </p><p>But on the first night in a long time that Oikawa had crawled under the covers and curled up against his chest like a sleepy, overgrown house cat, Iwa had felt a fierce protectiveness blossom in his chest, the need to make sure safe and sound was all Oikawa would ever know. For as long as Oikawa wanted, Iwa would be his.  </p><p> </p><p>He’d been holding his entire world in his arms, and Iwa had sworn to himself that he would protect Oikawa and love him until their dying breaths. He’d loved Oikawa since they were children, in his own innocent way, but that was the first time that Iwa finally acknowledged the fact. And yet today he’d taken all the trust and love and promises that Oikawa poured into their relationship, and then shattered them into pieces. He could only pray that those pieces weren’t too small to glue back together. </p><p> </p><p>The more Iwa thought about it, the worse he felt. Oikawa was his motivation, his world, his everything. Oikawa was the one who picked him up when he was down and encouraged him and loved him and taught him that it was okay to <em> dream</em>. There was a horrible emptiness in his chest, the absence of the man he loved tucked against his neck. Oikawa was safe, and warm, and comfortable. Oikawa was <em> home</em>, and his home was Oikawa.</p><p> </p><p>Not this cold, empty mattress.</p><p> </p><p>Iwa sat upright and leaned back on his palms for a moment. He shuffled over the right side of the bed, Oikawa’s side, before snuggling down under the covers again. He turned his face into Oikawa’s pillow and took a deep, shuddering breath. The fabric still smelled like him, coconut and warm vanilla and just the slightest bit of cinnamon spice. </p><p> </p><p>Iwa exhaled heavily, his lungs contracting, squeezing, tightening until they hurt. He couldn’t stop the tears anymore.</p><p> </p><p>They spilled like water from a stream, feeling both hot and cold at once as they burned their way down his face and soaked into Oikawa’s pillowcase. It all felt <em> wrong</em>, lying in their bed alone without the press of freezing toes against his calves, steadily leeching the ample heat from his skin. Without the gentle brush of soft lips against the side of his neck, Oikawa’s untamable waves tickling the underside of his chin and his face.</p><p> </p><p>It was the absence of the man that was supposed to be next to him that really hurt; Oikawa was supposed to be <em> here</em>, with Iwa, so that he could hold Oikawa carefully in his arms and show his boyfriend all the words his stupid pride didn’t let him say. That, and the fact that Oikawa’s letter hadn’t sounded angry in the slightest. </p><p> </p><p><em> What if he believes the things I said? </em> Iwa truly hadn’t meant a word that came out of his mouth, but Oikawa had always been more vulnerable that he’d let on. Iwa had always thought he’d seemed somewhat like an onion. He had layers and layers and made people cry as a hobby, but the setter was still sensitive no matter how hard he tried to seem tough. </p><p> </p><p>Iwa hadn’t meant the things he’d said at all. It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, subconsciously lashing out in annoyance with whatever would hurt the person irritating him the most, and that was just the thing. Iwa had been aiming to hurt, whether he meant it or not. He had said those things to <em> purposely </em> hurt the one person he loved the most, and he knew that those words would <em> definitely </em>hurt because they were ones that Oikawa still constantly told himself. </p><p> </p><p>Ever since middle school, Oikawa had doubted himself again and again, a broken stereo on loop as he stared at himself in the mirror and dissected every single one of his flaws, just like he did to others. He held himself to an impossibly high standard, and his friends had learned early on to stick close so that they could prevent Oikawa from pushing himself too far, too hard, and then self-destructing; that was how the setter had injured his knee, after all. </p><p> </p><p>Oikawa was paranoid of being vulnerable, of being hurt, of being <em> weak</em>. He had layer upon layer of armour strapped on, masking the hurt and disappointment and anxiety beneath a cocky smirk and a chin lifted in challenge. Iwa was the only one who had managed to find and undo all the buckles and links, the only one who Oikawa allowed close enough to detach the pieces of his protective shell. </p><p> </p><p>Oikawa had trusted Iwa not to hurt him, and yet Iwa had struck him <em> exactly </em>where he knew it would hurt the most.</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t even meant to.</p><p> </p><p>The weight on Iwa’s conscience nearly crushed him.</p><p> </p><p><em> What if he needs me now? Is he crying? Hating on himself again? Hurting? </em> Iwa swallowed hard, dragging the comforter up to his nose and cocooning himself in it. <em> ...Of course he’s hurting. Because of me.  </em></p><p> </p><p>You see, the problem with Oikawa was that sometimes, he hated himself <em> so much </em> that it was hard for him to see why he deserved to be loved. All that kindness buried under false bravado and bluster, compassion painted over by savage, vicious ferocity. Loyalty and empathy and a heart of solid gold glowed underneath it all, but Oikawa had magnified his own flaws so much that sometimes he just couldn’t <em> understand </em>why Iwa wanted to be with him.</p><p> </p><p>An image of Oikawa floated to the forefront of Iwa’s mind, the setter curled up into a ball, looking smaller than ever as tears dripped off his face, thinking he was unwanted and unloved and had finally crossed the line. Worrying and fretting over the thought that he’d been too annoying, that he’d finally pushed it too far and that Iwa wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore, wouldn’t want <em>him</em> anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Iwa had to dig his nails into his palms to hold back a choked sob, his spine trembling from the strain of holding still. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Please be okay. Please. It’s not your fault at all and I didn’t mean it, any of it.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Iwa tried to fall asleep with his nose pressed deep into Oikawa’s scent, clutching their comforter to his chest and hoping that both things would help fill the emptiness he felt and lull him into unconsciousness.</p><p> </p><p>They didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>                               *</p><p> </p><p>Iwa rolled out of bed feeling like shit, with his hair looking like a rat’s nest and his mouth tasting like one. Believe it or not, he hadn’t slept <em> at all </em>the previous night. The mattress had been too cold and too big and too empty, and it was just weird without one of Oikawa’s arms or legs flung over him. Iwa was used to holding his boyfriend to his chest now, to protecting him from his own self-doubt and worries and lavishing him with affection that the ex-spiker was too cowardly to show during the day. Iwa had spent the entire night tossing and turning with his eyes wide open, even though he had already been absolutely exhausted for days.</p><p> </p><p>The asphyxiating guilt and worry that made it extremely hard to take a deep breath certainly hadn’t helped, either. </p><p> </p><p>He wondered if Oikawa had slept just as badly at Suga’s house, but he really didn’t know; going to stay over at his best friend’s house usually left Oikawa energised and in a good mood, and Suga had the near-superhuman ability to pick Oikawa up and out of his slumps and self-depreciative cycles. If Oikawa had gotten a panic attack the previous night and had the silver-haired man by his side to coax him out of it (or at least through it), Iwa would owe Suga a life debt. </p><p> </p><p><em> Energised. Right. Coffee. </em>Iwa stumbled blearily out of their (previously) shared bedroom and into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes through an enormous yawn. He dropped a capsule into the coffee machine (that Oikawa had insisted they bought) and started it, waiting for his mug to fill as he wet his hands at the sink and ran them through his hair in a futile attempt to make himself look less homeless and slightly more sane. </p><p> </p><p>Everywhere he looked, Iwa saw Oikawa. In the colourful terracotta tiles that were set into the plaster of their kitchen walls, in the row of little plants that were sitting in the middle of the island, each one labeled with a neatly-cut piece of masking tape and a name, flourishing under Oikawa’s careful daily application of water. Iwa didn’t even need to think before he grabbed the small watering can by the sink and lightly sprinkled all five of the small pots. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t until he grabbed his full mug of coffee to go to the study room did he see the slim figure stretched out on the couch. Iwa’s heart did a funny little flop in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>Oikawa’s hair was half-flattened where his face was squished into the armrest, and his lanky frame looked uncomfortably cramped. <em> He must’ve snuck in late last night… </em>Iwa hadn’t heard anything, but that wasn’t very surprising considering the fact that he’d been completely strung out, physically and emotionally exhausted the previous night. He walked over and quietly set his mug down on the low wooden coffee table, sitting carefully on the very edge of the couch to avoid waking his boyfriend.</p><p> </p><p>A soft puff of warm air brushed over Iwa’s hand as he instinctively reached out to sweep Oikawa’s bangs out of his closed eyes, but he stopped himself. He didn’t… Iwa didn’t know if Oikawa wanted to be touched by him right now. <em> I certainly don’t feel like I deserve to touch him. </em></p><p> </p><p>He got up from the couch and treaded lightly to their bedroom, sliding open a drawer in their (basically Oikawa’s) walk-in wardrobe and pulling out a folded shawl. It was one of Oikawa’s favourites, a deep, rich teal with vines and leaves embroidered in silver all over it. Iwa walked back to the living room and shook out the shawl, draping it over his boyfriend’s sleeping form. </p><p> </p><p>Iwa straightened up and turned to leave, but he hesitated. Leaning back down, he readjusted the edges of the shawl, and Oikawa gave an exhale that blew his errant bedhead out of his face. Iwa’s face fell at the sight of matte tracks along the setter’s cheeks, evidence of tears shed and left to dry. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes stung. <em> Goddammit. Don’t cry. You have no right to be crying. Don’t fucking cry. </em> The breath shuddered out of Iwa’s chest as he toyed with the tassels lining the ends of the shawl, before he realised that he was trying to find an excuse to stay. With Oikawa asleep like that, he could almost pretend that it was a perfectly normal Saturday afternoon and Oikawa was just sleeping in, curled up on the couch where they’d both fallen asleep after a late-night Studio Ghibli movie marathon.</p><p> </p><p>But that wasn’t what had happened. And until Iwa found a way to make up for what he’d done, that might not ever happen again. So Iwa tiptoed back to the study room and closed the door with the softest <em> click </em> he could manage. He caught his reflection in the glass door of the cabinet mounted on the wall; dark purple shadows pooled beneath his bloodshot eyes, and his hair, which had previously stood up like he’d been electrocuted, was now in a greasy, failed slick-back that Oikawa would have been appalled to see on him. Iwa chuckled slightly at the thought. <em> Maybe I should take a shower… </em></p><p> </p><p>                               *</p><p> </p><p>Iwa couldn’t sleep again. He had already resigned himself to another restless night, kept awake by the ache in his chest that was brought on by the fact that Oikawa was in the same house as him, and yet they had never seemed so far apart. </p><p> </p><p>They hadn’t seen each other at all, but at some point Oikawa had knocked on Iwa’s door to leave two onigiris and a bottle of A&amp;W root beer on the floor. Iwa had nearly cried again. </p><p> </p><p>The bedroom door cracked open, letting dim light spill in from the hallway. Iwa tensed up but tried to even out his breathing as a tall figure stole into the room, creeping towards the bed. </p><p> </p><p>Iwa’s heart went ballistic in his chest as the figure got closer. <em> Tooru? He’s not trying to murder me in my sleep… Is he? </em>He kept still and pressed his face into Oikawa’s pillow as his boyfriend stopped right next to the bed. Iwa felt his own pillow get gently pulled away and lifted from the mattress, and Oikawa started walking back towards the door. </p><p> </p><p><em> Wait. </em> Iwa’s eyebrows scrunched together. <em> Wait. He’s going back to the couch? </em> Oikawa’s light, retreating footsteps certainly seemed to imply so. <em> So he’s either still mad at me, or he thinks I’m mad at him. </em> Iwa’s teeth gnawed at his bottom lip. <em> Ask him to stay. Don’t let him hurt anymore. </em>Iwa opened his mouth, but his breath caught in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>Fear clogged up his throat. Iwa considered himself a rather level-headed and responsible person, but at that moment he had never felt like more of a coward in his <em> life</em>. He was afraid to face the consequences of his words, afraid of what he’d done to the man he loved. Words hurt more than anything else ever could, and Oikawa had been trying <em> so hard </em>to learn to love himself. And yet, Iwa was convinced that he'd single-handedly torn down all the progress they’d made. </p><p> </p><p>Oikawa pulled the door open.</p><p> </p><p>“Tooru.” </p><p> </p><p>His boyfriend froze in the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>Iwa’s voice was a rasp; he hadn’t spoken in quite a while. “Come sleep on the bed. I’ll go to the couch if you want.” </p><p>Oikawa was still standing in the doorway, a dark figure backlit by pale light, his features shrouded in shadow. “...It’s fine,” he muttered, his tone light but firm, “You need to rest well so you can study properly.” </p><p>“I can’t sleep… without you.” It was too dark for Iwa to see Oikawa’s face properly, but he heard his boyfriend’s shuddering inhale as the setter closed the door. </p><p> </p><p>Oikawa’s footsteps were near silent as he padded across the bedroom floor. He carefully placed Iwa’s pillow back onto the mattress, and Iwa shifted backwards to make space for him. Carefully flipping aside a corner of the comforter, Oikawa slipped one socked foot and then the other onto the mattress. </p><p> </p><p>They lay there, facing each other, breaths mixing. Oikawa wasn’t reaching out, but Iwa didn’t know if it was because he was angry or he thought Iwa didn’t want to touch him. </p><p> </p><p>If he thought the latter, he was sorely mistaken. Iwa’s hands itched with the need to slide into Oikawa’s hair, around his waist, over his jaw. He opened his mouth to break the silence, but Oikawa beat him to it. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>Iwa blinked, his brain processing the two words slowly in starts and stops like an old car engine. </p><p>“I’m sorry for… being annoying.” </p><p><em> No. No no no no no no— </em> Iwa still couldn’t see jack shit, but Oikawa’s voice had thickened substantially. “Tooru, you weren’t—</p><p>“I was, I was!” Oikawa was definitely crying now, little sobs stealing the air between his words. </p><p>Iwa’s chest clenched painfully as he realised that Oikawa was curling into himself, not reaching out like he usually would have done. <em> He… doesn’t trust me to comfort him anymore, does he? </em></p><p>“I k-knew that you were busy and stuff and I still wanted to joke around and I pushed too far. I just kept pushing and pushing and <em> pushing</em>, I don’t know why—” Oikawa sniffed loudly as he swiped a wrist furiously over his eyes, and Iwa couldn’t take any more. </p><p>“Can I touch you?” he muttered urgently, hands already hovering in the air. Oikawa’s shallow nod was all it took for Iwa to pull him close, one arm coming up to pillow his boyfriend’s head, the other curling around the setter’s jaw and sliding into his hair as Iwa rested their foreheads together. </p><p> </p><p>Oikawa just seemed to cry harder, his shoulders shaking against the sheets. “I’m sorry, I just— I crave attention and it’s so <em> stupid </em> and <em> shallow </em>and—”</p><p>Iwa tilted his head back slightly and looked up to the headboard, trying to get rid of the tears collecting in his eyes. “You’re not stupid, Tooru. Or shallow.”</p><p>“But you said—”</p><p>Ah, there it was. The painful reality that this entire fiasco had started because Iwa hadn’t controlled his temper enough and lashed out at someone he promised to always treasure and protect. “I didn’t mean it,” Iwa whispered. His voice was trembling, but he was too far gone to care. “I fucked up, I didn’t mean a single word, Tooru, please know that.” </p><p>His boyfriend looked away when Iwa tried to look into his eyes. <em> Fuck, he doesn’t believe me. </em>“Tooru. Tooru, hey. Look at me.”</p><p> </p><p>Oikawa’s russet eyes were dull, and Iwa couldn’t do anything about the fierce burn behind his own eyes as the tears he’d been holding back finally broke free. “I didn’t mean any of it.” He swallowed, trying to steady his voice, but it was nothing more than a cracked whisper. “I never meant to hurt you. I have never, <em> ever </em> meant to scare you or make you afraid of me.” Iwa swept a shaking thumb across his boyfriend’s cheek, rubbing away a tear that had been wending its way down smooth skin. “I don’t show it nearly enough, I <em> know </em> I don’t, but I <em> do </em> care. I care about you, Tooru. And I never want to make you feel uncomfortable or threatened, but I <em> did</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>Oikawa let a forced, quivering laugh slip past his lips. “I know you didn’t mean it, it’s—”</p><p>“Don’t say it’s fine,” Iwa interrupted, the air trickling out of his lungs. “It’s not <em> fine.</em> I know you cried, when you left the study room, when you came back yesterday night. I made you cry, and I’m sorry.” He couldn’t resist leaning upwards to press a kiss against Oikawa’s forehead, shifting so that he could press Oikawa’s face into the crook of his neck. “I’m so fucking sorry, Tooru. I upset you and I scared you and I couldn’t even try and help you feel better because I was fucking afraid that you hated me, or worse, you were... scared of me. I was terrified that you thought I would hurt you in some way.”</p><p> </p><p>Iwa’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness now, and he could see Oikawa frown, looking a little confused. “Why on earth would I hate you? And I got you food. If I really hated you, I would have left you to starve because I’m a petty bitch.”</p><p>The other man allowed himself a small laugh, but it was hollow. His heart ached with the wordless admission that Oikawa <em>had</em> been scared, after all; The image of his boyfriend hunkered down on an unfamiliar couch, too afraid to look for comfort, to come home... The fact that he had made Oikawa <em>afraid</em> to come <em>home</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Home was supposed to be a place that you felt safe in, that you escaped to, not <em>ran</em> from. Oikawa was Iwa’s home, and Iwa hoped that he’d been Oikawa’s, at least before he had ruined everything. Iwa didn’t know how Oikawa was going to forgive him, but he knew that if the setter wanted him to drop to his knees and grovel on the floor to beg for forgiveness, he would do it without question or a single complaint.</p><p>Iwa’s throat didn’t seem to be functioning properly, because he couldn’t exactly swallow. “Thank you for the food, by the way. And it’s because you... you damn well deserve better than to be yelled at just because I can’t control my temper.” Oikawa’s unruly waves and curls were soft against his nose, so soft. He would never take them for granted again, not when he realised now that their relationship wasn’t infallible. They had had their fair share of fights, but this was the first time that the fact had really slapped Iwa across the face; Oikawa could do <em>so much better</em> than him. The setter had an entire fan club congregating outside his proverbial door. He could have picked any one of them, and yet he’d chosen to stick with Iwa instead. </p><p>Oikawa’s breath fluttered across his neck. “But I was being annoying.” </p><p>“That was no excuse for me to say the things I did, whether I meant them or not. And I <em>scared </em>you.” Iwa clenched his jaw tight, sucking a deep breath in through his nose. Oikawa’s hair smelled of coconut and vanilla and cinnamon, and it was so painfully, beautifully familiar. “I can’t promise you that this will never happen again, but I swear that I will try to be better.” Iwa slipped an arm down to curl around the tapered line of Oikawa’s waist, fingers pressing ever-so-slightly into his side. “For you.” A single tear slipped from the grasp of Iwa’s lower lashes, falling into his boyfriend’s mess of hair. “This is my promise to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Oikawa seemed to have stopped crying at least; he was no longer sniffling, although Iwa’s shoulder still felt a little wet. “I’ll try too. I’ll try not to come and bother you when you’re busy.” </p><p>Iwa’s chest warmed. Oikawa was a prideful creature by nature, not unlike himself, and the fact that he’d willingly agreed to change was just a testament to his emotional intelligence and compassion, not to mention how much he valued Iwa. “You can… I don’t mind it when you bother me sometimes. Not all the time,” he warned quickly, before Oikawa got <em>too</em> excited, “but <em> sometimes</em>, Shittykawa.” Somehow, it even hurt to imagine Oikawa without his teasing and wheedling and whining. The setter only stayed quiet when he was sad, and Iwa <em> hated </em>to see Oikawa sad. </p><p>Oikawa gave a sleepy little snort at the old nickname. “You haven’t called me that in ages.”</p><p>“Tooru.”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>Iwa tilted Oikawa’s chin up so that their gazes locked. “Please don’t <em> ever </em> think that I don’t care about you, or your feelings. It hurts me every time I see you cry, or start overthinking and blaming yourself for something that is entirely not your fault. It <em> hurts</em>. So please, <em> please </em>promise me you’ll try to love yourself like you love me. Like I love you.” </p><p> </p><p>Oikawa didn’t say anything for a long time. His answer came in the form of a kiss, pressed slow and sweet to Iwa’s lips before he took up residence in the crook of the ex-spiker’s neck again. “I love you, Hajime.” </p><p>“Come here.” At the invitation, Oikawa scooted even closer and wrapped a lean leg over Iwa’s hip, and Iwa had to purse his lips to keep from crying again. “Y’know, love is caring about someone even when you’re angry with them, and you brought me food, so… I already knew you love me.” That earned him a weak thump on the chest, and Iwa huffed out a quiet laugh. “Love you too, you idiot.” He dropped a kiss onto Oikawa’s hair. “My idiot.” </p><p> </p><p>Oikawa was back in his arms, and they’d worked through their misunderstanding. So why did it feel like something was still missing?</p><p> </p><p>“...Why the hell are you wearing socks?” Iwa could tell that Oikawa was surprised by the playfully accusative tone of his voice. </p><p>“Uhh… my feet got cold.” </p><p>“Well, take them off please.” When Oikawa still didn’t move, Iwa sighed, ducking down under the covers to strip the thick socks off his boyfriend’s feet and toss them off the bed. </p><p>“I thought you said you didn’t like my ‘icy-ass toes’,” Oikawa snarked weakly, one eyebrow raised in faux sardony. </p><p>Iwa let his lips curl up at the feeling of the setter’s frigid feet pressed against his shins. <em>Now this is what I call home. </em>He bumped their noses together. “Fuck what I said and go to sleep. I love you.”</p><p>Oikawa laughed softly, the sound an absolute balm to the other man’s ears. “Love you too, Hajime. Sweet dreams.”</p><p> </p><p>Iwa wasn’t sure if Oikawa was already asleep when he whispered the words, but he would make sure his boyfriend knew one way or another. He had the rest of their lives to show him. “I don’t need sweet dreams when I have you as my reality.” </p><p> </p><p>And finally, Iwa fell asleep. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really projected onto Oikawa for this one, huh.</p><p>I think I subconsciously relate cuddling in bed to safety or something, because it has become a <em>very</em> common thing in my fics—</p><p>Thank you for reading! A kudos and/or comment would mean the absolute world to me, so please drop one (or a few) if you feel like it 💕 </p><p>Have you drank any water lately? No? Yeah me neither but unfortunately, it is impossible for we mere mortals to subsist entirely on caffeine and anxious energy. Go drink up. </p><p>What was that? You haven't eaten either? Well go to the kitchen and grab a fucking snack already. Can't have you passing out on me, can I? </p><p>Wait. You're telling me it's <em>past 2 a.m.</em>? That's it. Go to sleep. Before I reach through the screen and physically hug you to death, or drown you in affection. It's your choice.</p><p>Anyway, until the next time, I shall be bundled in my oversized sweater and sipping overly-sweet coffee while blasting heavy metal music and doing homework that was due three days ago while surviving off the love and support y'all give me. Stay amazing b(￣▽￣)d</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>